Coming Down
by ficdirectory
Summary: Reid goes to the hospital at the end of Revelations. Morgan is there to help him through. Written for babyara. **WARNING: Addiction**


Reid doesn't walk out of the cemetery where he shot Tobias. He sort of hobbles. His head feels strange. It's hard to think. But it isn't hard to remember what he has stowed carefully in his pockets. He asks for his bag and someone locates it for him. While he pretends to rummage for shoes, Reid makes the drop. He stores his supply in a hidden inside pocket. No one will know it's there. They will check him out at the hospital. But no one will think to check his satchel. What he must take with him, no matter what comes next. The clear vials with the liquid he has come to rely on. They are what made his captivity bearable. Tobias knew what he was talking about. Definitely. He barely felt the pain in the sole of his foot, or in his head.

He is so convinced he is fine that he tells Morgan to make them turn the ambulance around. He would much rather take the SUV. The siren on this thing makes his head throb. Don't they know he has a head injury? Don't they know that noise aggravates it?

It's useless because no one listens to him. Morgan tries to be here for him, but it doesn't help. Morgan's way of choosing to be there is to talk. Constantly. And that doesn't help anything. When they arrive, Reid is rushed back to be examined. Of course, the drugs and the head injury are the most concerning.

He has to answer humiliating questions like what day is it and where is he? His ears turn red when he cannot seem to remember. He thinks of his mother, not knowing the answers to these same questions. It makes his breathing shallow. It makes him start to panic. Still, Reid tries to maintain self-control.

There are too many people talking, and the lights are too bright. Morgan is, somehow, still beside him, though. He has made it his duty to be here, and Reid guesses that's all right. Better Morgan than Hotch, who Reid just said he would be fine with killing a few minutes ago, or JJ, who is drowning in guilt.

"Can you tell me who the president is?"

This, he knows. Of course, he knows it.

"Bush," he answers, feeling proud of himself.

"Can you be anymore specific?"

"How do you mean?" Reid asks. He casts a worried look at Morgan, whom he now desperately wants as an ally. Maybe Morgan will give him a hint.

"You're doing fine, kid. Just relax," Morgan encourages.

So, Reid tries. He tries to clear his mind and think very hard, but nothing happens. Or rather, nothing happens that _should _happen. He feels very tired. Unable to focus. He just wants to sleep. But the doctors want answers, so he tries. He offers the one piece of information that has revealed itself to him.

"George," he says.

"Spencer, I need you to stay awake for me," the other voice says. Not Morgan. Reid doesn't feel like staying awake. He doesn't feel like answering stupid questions. He doesn't feel like doing anything except crawling into his own bed and sleeping for a year.

"Next question," Morgan prompts the doctor, and Reid is so grateful tears very nearly come to his eyes.

"Actually, we're done with questions for now. We're going to keep you here at least overnight to monitor you while the dilaudid makes its way out of your system… Reid is dozing lightly but he can tell the precise moment when the doctor on call stops addressing him and starts addressing Morgan instead.

"It appears he has a concussion. That in combination with the forced drug use is definitely something we want to keep an eye on. The sole of his foot is bruised and will probably be sore, but that's the least of his problems. Now, you said he had a seizure?"

Reid imagines the words and then they disappear as he drifts into a fitful sleep.

Morgan is there when he wakes up, and Reid barely notices. He's sweating profusely, aching down to his bones. His abdomen is cramping. He can't remember if he gave the okay for subsequent, hospital-approved drugs to help him off the ones he is currently on. He can't stop kicking his legs. Anxiety is ripping its way through his body. It is worse than being held hostage. He is brutally hot, then brutally cold. He itches. When the vomiting begins in earnest, Reid begs Morgan to let him die. The worst part is that there is no relief. He can't sleep.

"Can't I have something?" Reid begs, his teeth chattering.

"Reid, I promise you. It's gonna go away. Just hang in here with me a little longer. The longer you hang in there, the less time you got left to go through this. I know it's hell, kid. I can see it on you. But you're doing great. I'm sorry you gotta to through this, but it won't be this bad all the time. I promise you."

"Go to hell," Reid gasps. It's not one of his finest moments. And the following evening, he apologizes at the hazy memory.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier," Reid tells him quietly. They are on the jet. They are going home.

"Don't worry about it. You did the best you could. You got through it. That's what matters. And that you come to me if you ever need somebody. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Reid echoes as they descend, in preparation for landing.

When the wheels meet the ground, Reid breathes a sigh of relief. The sun shines brightly in the window of the plane. The new day Reid wasn't sure he would ever live to see. First, because of Tobias, and then because of the withdrawals. His head still aches. His foot still causes him to limp like a hunchback. But he is alive. He did it.

He made it.

He is home.


End file.
